


What's In A Name?

by dismiss_your_fearsx



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismiss_your_fearsx/pseuds/dismiss_your_fearsx
Summary: Edith gives birth to her second child.
Relationships: Edith Crawley/Bertie Pelham
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	What's In A Name?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for you all your lovely and kind comments on my other Bertie and Edith fic! I appreciate it so much. I hope you enjoy this one just as much! xo

In early March of 1928, as the spring sunshine yawned itself across the horizon signalling a new day, Bertie Pelham, Marquess of Hexham, shook Dr Thompson’s hand with such elated vigour that the elderly practitioner inwardly feared the younger man may crush his old bones. 

“My good Sir, thank you so much!” Bertie said for the third time in eighty seconds. 

The doctor guffawed and patted the new father on the shoulder. “I hardly did a thing, your Lordship. It was your wife who bore the worst of it.” 

Bertie sobered slightly at this. It seemed an honest turn of phrase - the worst of it - as Edith’s labour had been long and arduous. Twice he had to take himself for a walk around the grounds, stumbling over his feet in the pallid moonlight, Edith’s tortured moans echoed into the night sky, following him around like a ghost. “And- you’re certain my wife is in good health? And the baby?” He worried his bottom lip until it began to bleed slightly. 

Bertie had been told of Edith’s sister’s death in childbirth and the troublesome thought had plagued his nightmares on more than one occasion over the course of Edith’s pregnancy. He had never had the opportunity - or pleasure, it seemed - to meet Sybil Branson, but her loss keenly affected almost everyone he held dear and he was relieved beyond measure that it appeared they would all be spared the loss of Edith, too. 

“Yes,” the doctor confirmed confidently, an unwavering tint of honesty in his crinkled eyes as he met Bertie’s fretful gaze. “They are both tired after the ordeal of it all, but in fine health, I assure you. Lady Hexham will be tired for the immediate next few days and so should observe bed rest until she is more recovered. I shall leave a recommendation of a strengthening diet with your cook before I take my leave,” he promised. 

“Thank you,” the new father said again. 

The door to the bedroom, of which the two men stood outside, cracked open and the midwife emerged wearing a gentle smile, nodding in direction of the men. “All is well,” she reported, as she carried away in her arms a wicker basket of blood-blotched bedding, towels and a nightgown. 

The sight made Bertie’s stomach lurch despite the reassurances from the medical professionals. He motioned his head to the door. “May I see them?” he wondered. 

“Of course, your Lordship!” Dr Thompson granted happily, pausing to wonder why the peer had requested permission to enter a room in his own house. “I will call in again around six o’clock this evening to check things over. But do feel free to send me a telegram if there’s anything else you require.” 

“Thank you, Sir,” Bertie said again, for the final time, as he slipped into the room to meet the newest addition to the family. 

Once through the door, he was met with the sight of Edith, who looked pale and tired, and a bundle of blankets out of which a small hand stretched upwards towards the stream of daylight peeking through the closed curtains. “My darling, how are you?” Bertie asked his wife gently, unable to remove his eyes from her and the newborn.

“Oh, I’m alright,” Edith reassured at the sight of his concerned but elated features; her voice was quiet and exhausted. 

Tiptoeing, Bertie approached his family the bed. “I was so...” he began, trailing off as the worry and emotion clogged his throat. “But you were... magnificent,” he continued on huskily, “I am in awe of your strength. Never can I recall feeling so proud...” Bertie exhaled wobbly and rubbed his chest to encourage his heart to slow it’s impossibly fast rhythm. 

“Be as proud as you like,” placated Edith, shooting him a fond glance. No one had ever really been truly proud of her. 

A laugh escaped Bertie’s still smiling lips. “I can’t be that,” he insisted quite seriously, “else I fear I feel I shall combust with it.” 

“Then please be as proud as is sensible, darling.” Edith then held out her hand, which was a shade paler in her exhaustion, beckoning her husband to her and their son. “Come join us.” 

“I think he looks just like you,” Edith gently murmured, as though it were a prayer. 

“The poor chap.” For that comment, Bertie received a sluggish elbow to the ribs, which he responded to with a quiet laugh.

Edith settled her head against her husband’s shoulder and sighed happily. “Well, I, for one, happen to think he is lucky to inherit such handsome features.” 

“He’s strong little fellow,” Bertie gushed, his chest puffing out slightly. 

“Oh, yes,” she acknowledged almost absently. 

Bertie pressed a kiss into Edith’s hair, “Like his mother.” 

Edith smiled and then yawned, the long hours of agony slowly but surely creeping up on her. “What shall we call him?” She looked up at her husband with rapturous and curious eyes. 

For the past seven months, Bertie had been keeping a sacred mental list of names he thought Edith would find agreeable, but as he stared down - dumbstruck with awe - at his son, the most perfect little creature he’d ever laid eyes on, he found the list forgotten in its entirety. “Have you any ideas, darling?” he gently wondered. It was, after all, mostly Edith’s doing, and so by right she should have the last say. 

“Well, what about Peter?” Edith offered, thinking of Bertie’s beloved and late cousin from whom he’d inherited his new circumstance. 

Bertie shot her a fond look for the selfless thought, before a wry smile formed on his face. “Peter Pelham picked a peck of pickled peppers; A peck of pickled peppers Peter Pelham pickled. If Peter Pelham picked a peck of pickled peppers, where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Pelham picked?” he teased so as to veto. 

Edith’s tired body ached as it shook with laughter at her husband’s sense of humour. “Heavens, Bertie, don’t make me laugh, it hurts,” she complained, giggling anyway. “So, not Peter,” Lady Hexham began, having caught her breath. “Have you any better suggestions as to names?” 

Bertie considered this for a moment and inched ever-closer to his wife and their son - their son! - on the bed. “What do you make of Charles?” he wondered suddenly, as if struck by some divine inspiration. He softly smoothed the thin wisps of golden hair on the baby’s head and dearly hoped the little tyke’s hair would remain like his mother’s - the colour of the sand found only in the West Country. “My grandfather was called Charles and he was the kindest man I’ve ever met, very funny, too.”

Edith hummed in consideration before trying it out on her lips. “Charles Pelham. Charlie Pelham. Do you know, I think I rather like it,” she admitted with a wonderful beaming smile. 

Bertie mirrored her smile and gently grazed the sparse hair on his son’s head. “We shall call him Charles on formal occasions and when he is in trouble, but Charlie on all other occasions,” he christened. 

“Shall we give him a middle name?” Edith wondered. 

“Charles Robert Peter?” Bertie suggested. 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Edith gushed, though not without hesitation. Bertie raised his eyebrows slightly as he awaited her elaboration. “Don’t you think it sounds rather... grand?” 

Bertie laughed wholeheartedly. “May I remind you, Lady Hexham, that we are grand?” 

“But two middle names is so very grand...” Edith argued.

“Don’t you have two middle names, my darling?” 

“Exactly.” 

Bertie barked a laugh. “Well, then, it shall be a family tradition.”

A thought struck Edith suddenly. “Where’s Marigold?” She craned her neck around the room to see if the little girl and her teddy bear were in attendance. 

“She’s asleep - at last,” Bertie informed Edith with a sympathetic sigh. “She was so worried about her aunt Edith but she is excited to meet her sibling.” 

Edith smiled softly and glanced down at Charlie, who, like his sister, was also asleep. “Bertie?” 

“Yes?” 

A wave of hesitation washed over Edith. “I have been thinking...”

“Yes?” Bertie further encouraged, nudging her gently to cure her of her sudden shyness. 

Edith released a breath. “I have been thinking that we should tell Marigold the truth about who she really is,” she blurted out quickly. “Especially now that Charlie is here.”

Bertie stilled somewhat. “Is she not a little young yet? Perhaps she may not understand?” 

Edith frowned, thinking that was Bertie saying no. “Of course I understand that it’s not what’s done but I thought-“

“Just because it’s not done does not mean it should not be done,” Bertie said thoughtfully. “I have always thought we ought to tell her someday... and it must be hard for you to now have both of your children under one roof but only one of them be permitted to call you their mama.” 

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Edith said, tears pricking her eyes at his ability to understand her so well. She bit her lip. “So, would it be alright if we tell her this evening?” 

Bertie blinked at the question and then chuckled slightly. “My darling, you are not a child and I am not your father; you do not require my permission; it is your story to tell,” he told her gently. “But I shall be sitting right beside you later, if that’s when you wish to tell her.” 

“If I had the energy, I would jump up and kiss you,” Edith sighed. 

“Then do allow me,” Bertie inferred with a smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. Once they broke, he noted the tired smudges beneath her eyes and how her eyelids were growing heavy. “It’s time you got some rest.” He kissed her forehead and then Charlie’s, and then began shifting off the bed. 

“Oh, must you go?” Edith wondered, her head already drooping in sleep. 

Bertie carefully took Charlie from Edith’s arms and set the still-sleeping baby down gently in his crib next to the bed. “Goodnight for now, my dear little chap,” he whispered happily, “Perhaps when you are more awake later we may be properly introduced.” 

From behind him, he heard Edith’s soft snores fill the air. He peeked over his shoulder and saw her slackened mouth and her hands folded comfortably under her pillow. Chuckling silently, Bertie carefully gathered the duvet cover and pulled it over her, tucking it gently in. Pleased that Edith hasn’t been disturbed, Bertie absently thought that the head housemaid would be proud of his work. “I love you so very much,” he whispered to Edith before crossing the room and settling into an arm chair next to the fire. A yawn eclipsed his happy smile as he kicked off his shoes and waited for sleep to claim him on what he would always remember as the happiest day of his little family's lives. 


End file.
